Chapter Text
It’s much paler than Shane Hollander imagined, almost as if hundreds of years of sun and dust impaled itself into the ancient canvas. The Last Supper is gigantic, he also notes. The camera pans across the long canvas elegantly before whipping 180 degrees, focusing in on the two final contestants. Jackie Pike sips from her wine glass, cheftestants, she had quipped earlier in the night. Hayden Pike, the husband draped in pajama’d twin girls, had promised Shane this finale would blow his socks off. Hayden wasn’t very big into reality television, but Top Chef was legendary. Jackie had surprisingly genius taste in competition entertainment, he argued.
Shane could barely pretend to resist the invitation to join them in their suburban sprawling living room, the very one Shane had designed custom for them. Though, every time he visited the couple, he couldn’t help but criticize his own work. He should have pushed that wall back a foot, not put in those barn doors for the bathrooms that didn’t block out any sound, and the backsplash tiling was so ten years ago. But tonight was for entertainment value. It was for friendship and being social. Jackie swore the entire night, fiercely convicted, this season of Top Chef would go down in history as some of the very best television of all time.
“It can’t be better than season five of Rupaul,” Shane retorted over dinner.
Jackie opened her mouth and paused, “You’re right. But it’s up there. I’m telling you.” She was biased, Shane was sure of it, because this season was the first to be dedicated to an all-Canadian cast. Or at least chefs all based in Canada.
“You know, she’s right,” Hayden laughed casually, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe her right away.” Jackie raised an eyebrow at the fool of a husband she had married. “I mean, not to question your intelligence, dear. But you know, reality TV. It’s kind of stupid.” Shane chuckled in agreement. Jackie pursed her lips, the corners curling upwards playfully.
“And that’s what makes it perfect. Please, don’t tell me that all TV isn’t kind of stupid. Aren’t we all a little stupid?” She grinned.
“How’d you make this philosophical?” Hayden’s lopsided smile shone at his lovely wife.
“Besides, Top Chef is about some of the best new chefs in the world competing to show off that they really are the best. It’s amazing to see these professionals really know their like, craft,” Jackie used her fork to poke into each word for emphasis. “It isn’t them just sucking face and competing for camera time.”
“Celebrity chefs are a big thing,” Shane tried to relate. “I’ve met a few, you know, who worked as private chefs for different clients.”
“Anyone from Top Chef?” Jackie’s eyes sparked.
Shane muttered a laugh, “I’m not sure, sorry. I don’t usually really talk to them, the private chefs that people hire. But they’re there.”
Hayden groaned, “That’s kind of weird. What do they do all day? Lurk around waiting for someone to get hungry?”
“No,” Shane shook his head.
“You make it sound weird, honey,” Jackie added.
“Well, I had that client I was telling you about in Ville Marie, this really young influencer girl type. And she wanted me to see her house, this incredible 1918 mansion. She asked me to come in and redesign the bathrooms. Wanted to rip up all the original tiling, and totally gut it.” He was rambling, adding too many extras, Shane realized too late. But Hayden and Jackie listened intently to their architect turned closest friend. Even if both of them had expressions that read a little more sympathetic than invested. “Anyway, she was touring the house for me, and it was amazing. I mean, just an incredible house. We had a great conversation and she invited me for lunch. And I thought, why not, this house is incredible. I can stay. I said yes and she told her manager, or assistant, or someone and in like, fifteen minutes, the dining room was set up with this crazy spread. I mean just like five thousand things to choose from. She was on some crazy ass diet, so everything was really healthy. But so beautiful. Like a Chinese buffet with no calories. And everything was placed so artistically. It wasn’t just thrown in a bowl. Like someone had really thought about how it was going to look.”
“Woah,” Hayden commented sincerely.
“It was crazy. Like it was made to feed a hundred people. But the client said they had this every day, for her and her team, her friends. Whoever was there. I asked her how they were able to do it every day and she said something like, ‘Oh, I don’t have to make food. I’m so busy. I have a private chef. And the private chef has like, two assistants or something,’” Shane looked at his own plate of dinner, delicious and nutritious in the homemade kind of way. He hoped Jackie didn’t feel embarrassed about the meal she had prepared now that he told this story. “Anyways, it was just so wild. I mean, people just pay for someone else to do all their cooking.”
“Man, what a world,” Jackie sighed. She didn’t seem embarrassed at all. Shane felt relieved. “If I had a million dollars to hire a private chef, I would hire the Russian guy from Top Chef.”
“Here we go again,” Hayden rolled his eyes playfully.
“Honey, don’t be jealous,” Jackie smirked but her eyes twinkled with darkness.
“I’m not jealous,” Hayden glanced to Shane for a moment before turning his attention back to his wife. “You’re just obsessed.”
Jackie’s smiled agreed, “That’s one way to call it. Listen, Shane, you haven’t watched any of this current season?”
He wanted to say he hadn’t watched any second of any season of any Top Chef but instead he replied, “No, no, I haven’t. Who’s the Russian?”
“Ilya Rozanaov,” Jackie pronounced each syllable like it was a sacred chant. “Have you heard of him?”
Shane blushed softly, looking down again at his plate, “Actually, I have.”
“What?! Not you, too, Shane,” Hayden rubbed his forehead with his hand.
Jackie was giddy, “He’s everywhere, Hayd. Everywhere. Of course, Shane knows about him.”
“I mean,” Shane started to become embarrassed. “I don’t like, know really anything about him. But yeah, he’s viral. I’ve seen the clips.”
“What I tell you?” Jackie smugly grinned. “He’s going to win this season, I’m sure of it. He’s so amazing, Shane. I’m so excited for you to watch with us. You should have started from episode one, though. He’s just amazing to watch.” Hayden whined.
“He seems kind of—” Shane couldn’t find the right word to describe the explosiveness of the mountain of a man who was becoming famous not only for his charm and excellent recipes, but also for his terrifying wit. He could probably make Gordon Ramsey piss himself. “Scary?” Was the only word Shane could place.
“True,” Hayden could agree whole heartedly to this. He had watched the season progress in real time with his wife and had seen the outbursts, respected when the chefs had made up and shook hands after particularly nasty fights, and shivered slightly when the Russian chef glared at his opponents with icy attention. But he also had started to favor the guy as the show began to pad out his character. Hayden would never admit that he kind of liked Rozanov’s determination, might even call it real grit or some kind of spitfire, and instead just blame it on the editors for trying to make him look sympathetic.
“Rozanov’s a beast,” He was joking now, and Jackie swatted at him.
“He is scary. He’s real. He’s raw. That’s why I like him. That’s why the world likes him.” Jackie beamed. “He is aggressive, and maybe a little unhinged. But I think under all that is really just a sensitive guy. Chefs are all like that, you know. They yell and spit and have all those tattoos—" Her voice was trailing. Shane couldn’t hide his smile seeing Hayden seethe a little as he clearly felt jealous about the hypothetical-tough-guy-chefs his wife was clearly lusting after. “But they’re artists, too.”
Shane thought of the glorious lunch spread at his client’s house. It was art how carefully each piece of lettuce had been laid, how each slice of rainbow radish was perfectly glistening and bright, how the textures of each ingredient flowed and made all the others better through combination. Shane knew he was hard to impress, and some raw vegetables had really impressed him. So, he nodded at Jackie, following her words closely.
“And Rozanov isn’t only a real artist. I mean, you’ve seen him; he is a fine piece of art himself,” A huge smile exploded across Jackie’s happy mouth and caught Shane it, too. His cheeks felt a little warmer. Shane swallowed slowly, covering his feeling with a mouthful of chicken and rice. But his mind swirled around the images of Ilya Rozanov he had seen circling social media.
Shane was not immune for the glory of a gorgeous man, nor his gorgeous body, or gorgeous smile. In the television kitchen, the chefs all wore the same white coats and black aprons but somehow Rozanov made his look designer. Custom fitted across his muscled physique, maybe. Shane was especially fond of Rozanov’s thick wrists and forearms which were always exposed under the brilliant white of his coat. And then there was that time one of his confessional’s went viral because he wore what the internet called “the tiniest, sluttiest, wife pleaser of all time.” Shane’s breath caught as he reviewed the iconography in his mind: white cotton spread across Rozanov’s smooth, broad chest. Fabric thin enough the sweetest outline of his nipples could be seen. And up, Shane’s mind’s eye went, to his muscular neck, his gigantic shoulders, the tattooed sleeve of his left arm, the dark freckles that speckled across his skin. And then his face. God, his face. His jaw, stubbled, cupid bowed lips of pink, wide nose, wide crystal eyes, the mole on his left cheek, his golden curls which were so perfect they had to have been placed individually to maximize the heartthrob factor. God, Ilya Rozanov.
“Stop drooling,” Hayden pushed out his bottom lip and glared at both of them across the table. Shane cleared his throat, averting his gaze, but smiling softly.
“You’ve got a crush on him, too!” Jackie practically giggled like a little girl.
Shane’s smile dropped, “No, I don’t have a crush, Jack. Adults don’t have crushes.” A little bit of humor remained in his voice as he thought to himself, I most definitely have a crush on Ilya Rozanov.
“Come on, Shaney,” Jackie’s enjoyment was glittering. “You’ve got a crush. It’s written all over you.”
“I don’t know a thing about the guy. I’ve just seen his picture. And some gifs. And maybe some videos. OK? It’s not my fault he’s everywhere,” Shane sighed as he knew any defense was futile against Jackie’s laughter. Infectious and delightful, Hayden couldn’t help but throw in his own laugh.
“She’s just tugging your chain,” Hayden defended his friend.
“I know,” Shane breathed. He exhaled an embarrassed laugh.
“Oh, Shane, don’t feel bad. It’s been so long since you were with anybody,” Jackie leaned her head into her hand. Dinner had to be over now. No one was even paying attention to their plates.
“I’m not with him,” Shane’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t know I exist. I barely know he exists. It’s just—he’s famous and hot. That’s all.”
“I know,” Jackie pulled the word long in her throat. “You’ve just been so quiet about your dating life.”
“Because I have no dating life,” Shane responded. There was a pause of silence and Shane considered offering to collect the plates to officially end the playful conversation turning too much like a spotlight onto him and his faults.
“Hey,” Hayden suddenly chimed in. He had a devilishly goofy smile on his face, “What if Mr. Russian gets hired as a private chef for one of your clients someday? Imagine that, walking in and bam, Famous and Hot right in front of you?” Shane and Jackie burst into a unified laughter.
“You’ve got quite the imagination there, sweetie," Jackie stood and lifted her plate. Shane beat her to it and insisted, silently, he collect them. He gestured towards the table, and she relented.
“What?” Hayden sat back in his chair, allowing Shane to take his clear plate. “I’m just saying, it isn’t impossible!”
Shane pushed each plate’s scraps into the trash and began loading the dishwasher in the kitchen. Jackie and Hayden continued their jovial moods into collecting their gaggle of children from the living room where they had been watching a movie. Shane could hear the distant rumbles of all their voices weaving across one another. It was bedtime for all three, the two little girl twins, Jade and Ruby, and the toddler, Arthur. Shane remained listening idly as his friends gathered their children, cooed at them, tickled them, argued with them, and brought them upstairs. The familiar ache scored across Shane’s chest. Almost every night he felt it. The feeling emerged like a burn. Only after touching the scalding hot thing for a moment did the searing pain come. It wasn’t just loneliness, he had decided, it was also a yearning. And it was also a need.
“OK,” Jackie settled into the couch, blanket curved up and around her, large wine glass in hand. “What you need to know, Shane, is that Ilya has not been winning a lot.”
“What? I thought you said he was going to win?” Shane was seated at the end of the couch, no blanket, with his arms folded over his chest.
“I know,” Jackie sighed, “I think he has a real chance. His problem is that he is amazing, and everyone knows it, but he keeps getting in his head.” Surprise bloomed inside Shane at the thought that the chef would have such a weakness.
“No,” Hayden groaned. He sat in a big, cushioned chair, with Ruby and Jade snuggled on either arm. They were sleepy, but brightly listened. “He’s arrogant.”
“What’s arrogant?” Jade asked quietly. She played with her fingers in front of her face.
“Arrogant is when Daddy thinks he knows everything but knows nothing,” Jackie narrowed her eyes at Hayden, smiling into the lip of her glass.
Hayden rolled his eyes again, “What she said, sweetie.” The girls giggled, probably not quite understanding what was so funny but enjoying the humor between their parents.
“Why do you say that, though, Hayd?” Shane tried keeping his voice nonchalant.
“Well,” Hayden’s eyes perked up. “He’s arrogant because he keeps making these huge risks. Like during the mise en place challenge, he totally railroaded his teammates and took over their tasks if they didn’t do it fast enough. He’s an asshole.”
“Hey!” Jackie tore daggers into her husband. The girls were already laughing. Shane chuckled, too. They didn’t have to ask what an “asshole” was.
“Sorry, sorry, girls never say that.”
“Hayden, maybe you’re right that he isn’t a good team player. He’s Russian, it’s probably a cultural thing,” Jackie sniffed.
“He’s arrogant, and he’s going to trip up. Matsumoto is going to win,” Hayden nodded confidently.
The screen of the TV lit up and Jackie shushed him quickly, “Oh, it’s on!”
Shane did not feel as dazzled by the episode like Jackie had been insisting upon. He knew it was because he had not been following along to the progression, he had not become invested. But Ilya Rozanov glowed like a sex-symbol every time the camera ran over him. Shane allowed his gaze to melt into him. He had reason finally to do so. The grand prize was revealed to be much more expansive than Shane had realized including the opportunity for the chefs to build a menu for an exclusive dinner at the James Beard House and even present at the James Beard Awards. Rozanov’s face cracked for a moment as he very minutely smiled. Shane couldn’t help but smile back a little, too.
Jackie sighed, “He is so gorgeous.”
Shane swallowed and let out a breathy laugh. Jackie reached over the couch and squeezed his leg. He rolled his eyes. She had been correct it was an excellent episode. The final two contestants were highly skilled and were given large amounts of time to talk to the camera and give all the reasons why they should win Top Chef. The pair were gathered in Milan to view Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper in person. The camera panned across each of them equally, but Shane found himself dying to see Rozanov in the background when the camera focused on anything but him.
Hayden’s pick was a petite woman named Margaret Matsumoto, Japanese-Canadian, older, and very professional. At the camera she told the story of her family’s immigration to Canada, how food was always comfort to her and how it was also power. Shane smiled when Hayden gestured towards her and then to him. Silly white ally, he thought. Just trying to be supportive. Shane still thought her story was very compelling.
But his chest tightened seeing Rozanov’s incredible face take up the screen. Rozanov’s voice was a low thundering sound enveloped in a heavy Russian accent. Shane realized he had never heard him speak before.
“I want to win Top Chef because I am the best.”
Hayden was right, he was arrogant.
Ilya grimaced, “I have worked very hard to be here today. My restaurant is very popular in Ottawa. I am very popular around the world. I am the new generation of chefs.” His face was almost expressionless, Shane noted. It was as if he was reciting memorized words. Maybe he was, he thought, maybe Rozanov’s English was poor. Maybe he was reading off a script. “I am very smart, I am very different from Canadian, boring standard.” There was something real. Shane tried not to lean forward. “The culinary world here in Canada is so scared to be different. But different is good,” Rozanov winked then at the camera and Shane’s face flushed immediately with heat. He was grateful the lights were low in the room. Jackie’s laugh rang loudly.
“God, what a ham!” Hayden barked.
“He’s not ham, Daddy,” Ruby played with her father’s cheek.
“For sure he is!” Hayden laughed, tickling his daughter.
“He is not ham!” She squealed in response. Shane finally let out a breath, hiding beneath the sound.
The episode played out how Jackie explained the algorithmic episodes usually did but also how instead of one challenge, the chefs had two. This episode, the real finale, contained the second of the two-part winning challenges. The judges spoke easily to the two finalists, this challenge they would have two opportunities to make their best “amuse-bouche” in under thirty minutes each time.
Shane looked at Jackie with a questioning expression. She responded quickly, “Like an appetizer. But special.”
“Sure,” He breathed. Shane suddenly felt a deep investment in what was going on, what was going to happen, and how might Rozanov react. All he could see was Rozanov. All he wanted to see was him. Shane watched intently as Rozanov’s hands moved over ingredients quickly. He imagined the thoughts inside his skull swirling and coming together to create some kind of brilliantness.
“There’s a lot of pressure on him,” Jackie whispered. “Matsumoto won the challenge last episode. The only way for him to win is to win both rounds of this challenge.” She looked genuinely concerned and Shane mirrored it.
“How come?” He asked with an increasing anxiety. He tried to force it down.
“’Cause she won a challenge. This challenge is you have to win both rounds. It counts as one challenge basically,” Hayden included softly. His daughters had started to snooze.
Shane nodded, understanding unfolding.
“Yeah, so if Matsumoto wins even just one round, she’s won the whole competition,” Jackie’s breath was a little shaky. She drank from her glass. Shane smiled a little at her worry. He grabbed her hand, and she squeezed it.
Their attention returned to their mutual crush. The pressure did not seep into Rozanov’s exterior. He worked fast, muscles rippling across his wrists and throat. But sweat gathered on his forehead, beginning to capture his curls. Watching him work was like watching a conductor of a gigantic orchestra. Ilya understood his own body, his fingers, his nerves. He understood the ingredients, his tools, the smells of everything. The thirty minutes absorbed into air faster than either of the contestants would have liked. And yet, on Rozanov’s plate was a gently arranged and beautiful mouthful: seared tuna with smoked shoyu, celery root relish, and caper aioli. All made from scratch, all perfectly appetizing. Shane thought for a moment his stomach could grumble. Beside his was Matsumoto’s, equally beautiful and delicate. But Shane couldn’t pretend to be interested.
“How do they decide who wins?” Shane asked, his voice revealing his interest. He cleared his throat again.
The show’s hosts immediately answered him, but Jackie also did, “One of the judges is going to blind taste test them.”
Sure enough, the bald judge sat with a blindfold over his face. He tasted each plate individually. The music pounded, heightening the moment. The camera zoomed in on Matsumoto’s concerned expression and then flashed to Rozanov’s scowling face. The blindfold was removed, the bald man chose the tuna. Rozanov’s face relaxed instantly. Shane noticed then that Ilya's shoulders had been held in a tightly wound configuration that reflected in every muscle of his body. For a moment, Rozanov didn’t look like he had a rod up his ass.
Jackie did everything in her power not to whoop excitedly, her eyes falling on her sleeping daughters. “Let’s go!” She stage-whispered to Shane who matched her grin. He couldn’t help it. He had been just as tightly wound, too.
“Matsu still has a chance. Your boy better not mess this up!” Hayden shot them a confidently humorous glare.
“No way, Pike,” Shane shook his head. “Our boy’s going to do it.”
“That’s the spirit!” Jackie giggled.
Round Two began like the first and the chefs were sweating again over stove ranges, cutting boards, reflective knives. Something different was across Rozanov’s face this time. He looked a little scared? Shane couldn’t be sure.
“Nah, look, he’s going to fuck it up,” Hayden was giddy.
“Don’t put bad energy like that in the world,” Jackie sneered.
Rozanov was struggling, something wasn’t going right. Shane’s fists hurt; he held them so tightly. He could barely breathe. He thought to himself, to Rozanov, breathe, breathe, breathe. And Rozanov’s eyes raised, and a wave of assuredness filled his body. He ran, grabbed something new, blueberries, and was furiously moving at his station. Again, thirty minutes did not feel like enough time but there it was. Matsumoto had made a soup, which Shane immediately felt was boring. Rozanov made something different: a zucchini spiral with salsa pipián, fried pepitas, and blistered blueberries.
The blind folded bald judge tasted each. If the music from before was dramatic, this time the music was a sycophancy of drama. Rozanov looked effortlessly sexy, sweat dripping across his reddened face with his curls fully plastered against his skin. Shane imagined that flush face above him, eyes boring into him and not celebrity judges. He shivered. All time slowed down. Shane understood why Jackie liked this so much. She sat forward in her seat, as well. Her mouth parted and her eyes glued to the screen. The bald man spoke.
Ilya Rozanov was the Top Chef. He won. Relief spread down through his body, his head fell back, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Matsumoto wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. Suddenly, Rozanov was not a tightly wound beast, but a languid creature hugging her back. He fell into her arms and Shane could see a huge smile crack across his face. Matsumoto laughed, smiling widely as she hugged her giant opponent. There was no hate between them, no anger, nothing but real comradery. Shane knew that was surprising to everyone watching. There were real tears coming from Ilya’s eyes. The screen flashed, listing his winnings, the significance, clips of the meals he had prepared.
Then the camera flashed back to Rozanov, his face still red and wet, and he said something in Russian. The subtitles were a little slow but revealed the phrase, “For you, Mama.” Shane swallowed again. His mouth felt dry. Were their tears in his eyes? He pinched them away and shook himself out of his trance. Jackie was celebrating, waking the daughters, and Shane had to play in the fun. It was cathartic, beautiful, and thrilling. Ilya Rozanov was all of those things, too.
Before bed that night, Shane swiped through his feed and looked up the name impaled in his head. Hundreds of congratulatory posts flooded his screen. Everyone had his name in their mouths and on their keyboards. Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. Rozanov, Rozanov, Rozanov. The gif of Rozanov and Matsumoto’s embrace was going viral. Shane’s heart ached. The familiar feeling was creeping in again. This time it swirled into a shape of a man with giant shoulders and golden curls. Shane had to physically shake the phantom out of him.